


Burning it Down

by prettylittlepetticoats



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Jon Snow, Canon Divergence - War of The Five Kings, Endgame Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Filthy, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gratuitous Smut, Honestly What Has Happened to Me, Jon Snow and Sansa Stark Are Not Related, Jon Snow is King-Beyond-the-Wall, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon Snow/Sansa Stark Smut, King Jon Snow, Loss of Virginity, Married Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, OOC, POV Sansa Stark, Romance, Rough Sex, Sansa OOC, Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Some Plot, War of the Five Kings, Warg Jon Snow, Wildling Culture & Customs, Wildling Jon Snow, lots of smut, pure filth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:07:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25272151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettylittlepetticoats/pseuds/prettylittlepetticoats
Summary: 'You Sansa are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. I think if your brother had known the way I'd look at you now he wouldn't have dared send me'Sansa sees no end in sight to her captivity in Kings Landing, until rumour comes that her brother has made an alliance with the wildlings and the King Beyond the Wall. Sansa begins to dream of her rescuer, of this mysterious King that ensures her brothers victory, and when the City falls he goes beyond what she had hoped, he goes beyond what she had imagined, he is much, much more / ONESHOT, Jonsa, Smut.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 26
Kudos: 360
Collections: Where The Wild Things Are





	Burning it Down

**Author's Note:**

> ahhh more smut. could not resist. 
> 
> this is hella smutty, I'm blushing y'all
> 
> you guys are a bad influence, your lovely reviews on my work prompt me to write this filth. love ya all. pls enjoy, lemme know if you want more. 
> 
> songrecs: girl on fire - alicia keys

She prays every day for news, in the Godswood, before bed in front of the fire, even in her sleep. She prays for any snippet of information, any snatch of news. She prays and prays each day, hoping, waiting, needing to know, to hear something, anything that tells her how the war is going.

The Lannister’s don’t keep her informed, they want to keep her stupid, in the dark. They break her betrothal to Joffrey and cast her aside, but she is still a hostage, a captive, and they refuse to tell her anything about her brother, about how the battles go.

But as time ticks on, she hears snatches.

She hears gossip among the servants, whom she familiarises herself with. Sansa was raised to be polite to the household staff and this pays off here, where the noble’s treat their servants so poorly, her kind smiles, and simply remembering their names gets her looked upon in favour. They give her little tidbits of news, hints of gossip and the summons before court fill in the blanks.

Robb is winning.

He was doing well anyway, but the phrase _‘winning the battle, losing the war’_ had always made her nervous, and she had heard it often in the corridors of the Red Keep. Before the little snatches of gossip, she heard predicted her brothers’ demise, spoke of Lannister glory, but now?

Now the tides have changed, now the southerners fear they will lose, that northerners will prevail. Hushed voices in the courtyard speculate not if, but _when_ King Robb will smash down the doors and root the Lannister’s from their home. Whispers in the gardens worry as the northerners move South, as the Riverland’s is liberated, as they march on and on. In Court the atmosphere is tense, as Joffrey screams and shouts and makes empty threats, and Sansa keeps her courtesies in place and just hopes and hopes.

The northerners will win, and it takes her a while to find out what changed. Last, she had heard the Iron Born held the North, Robb lost half his army and the northern cause was near dead. Now it is alive again, and when she hears why, when she learns the reason she is shocked as can be.

Robb has made an alliance, but not with any southern house, no, the northerners would never accept that. Instead he has gone North, further North, and done what none before him could do.

Her brother, in all boldness and political gambling has made allies of the wildlings.

She hears that he promised them the Gift, declared they would not kneel, and in turn they agreed, happy to get away from the cold and the threats lurking there. They marched through the North, liberated Winterfell, and threw the Iron Born back into the sea, and then they came South, slowly, for they were not used to the warmth, but they followed King Robb into battle, knowing if Robb loses, so will they.

It is genius really, the wildlings fight fiercely, she hears whispers of giants, mammoths, wargs and skinchangers. She hears that direwolf packs run with them, that wargs topple men from their horses and scout in the sky. She hears they steal wives along the way, burn southern villages and laugh as they hurl themselves into battle. They are truly terrifying, and they will win Robb the war.

They will not kneel though, and soon the gossip of the court turns from one King to another.

The King of the Wildlings.

He is a feared man, if the mutters are anything to go by, though little is known of him. Rumour has it he travels with a giant silent wolf, that he sits in a saddle like he was born to it and hurls himself into battle with no fear and all the confidence that he will win, laughing as he cuts down southerners by the dozen.

Rumour has it he is young, handsome, but fierce and strong. He has a scar across his eyebrow, he has the distinct northern look and he smiles and laughs as he wages a war. 

He leads his men fairly and he made the alliance with Robb, to get his men out of the cold, to finally settle South of the Wall. He kills any who disobey him, he has a loyal band of brothers close to him who’s council he heeds. He is resilient, brave, and handsome, and he fights next to her brother.

It is nigh on impossible not to think of him.

Once she hoped Robb would rescue her, and though she still loves her brother, those days of hope are gone. He wouldn’t trade the Kingslayer for her, and though she understands why it does hurt a little. She knows Robb will get her when he takes the Capitol, but it is not his rescue she dreams of.

No, the first night after hearing that Robb is near now, almost at Stokewood, that first night she dreams of the King of the Wildlings.

 _Jon_ , they say his name, and she mumbles it in her sleep.

She doesn’t mean to dream of him, doesn’t even know what he looks like. But she dreams of him rescuing her, saving her from this awful place. She dreams of him killing Joffrey and Cersei, cutting them down with a smile and saving her.

She doesn’t even know him, he is probably a brute, but she can’t stop her mind going there at night, straying to this King of the furthest North, she can’t help her lips framing his name.

 _Jon_.

It’s crazy, and she tries not to think about him during the day, scolds herself for being stupid, like the little idiotic girl who’d fallen for Joffrey’s charms. She promises herself she won’t do it again, she won’t be so stupid, and yet at night she can’t control her mind.

She can’t control it as she thinks of Jon, this mysterious King who leaves her whispering his name in her sleep, dreaming of him, hoping he’ll come.

It is stupid, and yet she can’t stop it … and the part of her that still wishes for a fairy-tale, for someone to sweep her away, doesn’t want to.

* * *

The day the City falls it has been months, her 16th nameday passed just days earlier, and the well of information had gone dry. No one knows what is happening, who comes or what will happen.

She is in the Godswood when the City falls, when Cersei orders all ladies to join her in the stronghold of the Maidenvault. A guard comes for her, to take her to the Queen Mother, to hide her there, _‘to keep her safe’_ he promises. She knows that’s not what Cersei wants; she knows Cersei wants her as a hostage.

“I am not done with prayer” She tries to use as an excuse, but the guard knows it is more than his life’s worth to disobey the Queen Regent. He shakes his head but at least looks apologetic as he waits for her to move.

She does move, she _runs_.

She’s fast and the guard bogged down with armour is slower. She darts out of the Godswood, down some corridors, through the gardens, never looking back despite the temptation, she runs and runs, and only after she is sure she has lost him does she stop to catch her breath.

He is gone, and somehow, she has made it to her rooms. She isn’t sure if it is because this is the familiar path to her, or that she seeks the comfort of her own things, perhaps it’s a place to hide as the City falls. But she has made it, she steps inside, and locks the door behind her.

Her breathing is heavy as she tries to move her cabinet to bar the door, it is too heavy for her and so she shoves a chair in front of the frame, and manages to drag her trunk forward enough as a barrier. She knows it won’t stop a solider coming for her, but it will deter them at least.

She thinks hiding under the bed is her best bet, and she looks at the frame, checks there’s enough space and nods to herself, that will be her hiding spot.

First, she goes to the window, she doesn’t see much but as she opens it, she can _hear_.

She hears the screams, the cries, the sounds of thundering feet and she smells fire and ash on the air. War is here, it has come.

She just hopes she lives through to see it end.

Will it be Robb who marches through the door and saves her? Or a soldier? Or perhaps the King of the Wildlings? A smile creeps over her features, either way, tonight has been her biggest chance of rescue, to be free ever, and she anticipates it with a hope she daren’t let grow.

She hopes for Robb to come, to sweep her into his arms and promise to take her home. From her dreams she wants the King to come, to be as handsome as she imagines, to give her the song life had robbed her.

But she knows, it is more likely that even if Robb does come, that some soldier will march her to his side. But she’ll get to go home at least, she hopes and hopes … even if she doesn’t let it take over.

Not yet just yet, not when there’s still a chance she won’t make it. She can’t stand the idea of getting her hopes up, only for them to be squashed again.

But the hope is like a flame inside of her, it won’t be snuffed. The hope refuses to go, refuses to die even after all the disappointment. Sansa may have changed, hardened, may not be that same silly girl, but part of her still is. Part of her still holds onto that hope.

Even as she hears footsteps in the corridor, hears screams and yells, she won’t let it die, she can’t. She knows if she gives up on hope, she’ll be lost.

Still she needs to keep herself safe, quickly she shuffles under the bed, tugs down her covers to hang over the side to hide her, makes sure her feet aren’t poking out and waits.

It’s a weird feeling she has, a combination of hope, hope she’ll be rescued, and fear, fear she’ll be killed.

The smash against the door certainly brings the fear to the forefront of her mind, and she shivers under the bed as the wood breaks and splinters, and a body rolls onto the floor. She can see the decapitated head of the solider roll over the rugs, but she can’t tell if he is Lannister or Stark, and so she doesn’t dare to move.

“Someone said this was her room” She hears a man, with a harsh tone and she flinches as he sits on the bed, claps a hand over her own mouth to stop herself from squealing.

“Aye” Another voice, gentler and yet still fierce, “He said that, asked us to come get her” He doesn’t sit down, she can see him pacing, back and forth, and she doesn’t dare make a sound.

She thinks she can hear a Northern tilt to their accents, but it is harsh, and she doesn’t dare risk coming out from her hiding place. They may be members of Robb’s army or they may be Lannister’s or mercenaries or wildlings, she can’t risk it. She doesn’t move, she has to be smart now and simply presenting herself to two unknown soldiers is not smart.

She’s a pretty girl, prettier than most, she knows that, she sees the way the men of the court look at her, the way soldiers leer at her. She can’t just come out from her hiding place and hope that everything will be alright. Even if these men are in the Northern army, it may not be safe.

Sansa can’t stand to think that just possible moments from freedom she may have it taken from her by these strangers.

And so, she doesn’t move. She huddles under the bed as silence falls over her room. She hears one of them grunt, and then silence falls again, and then she hears a growl, and she flinches as something noses against the covers hiding her position.

She knows if she shuffles back to get away from whatever threatens to reveal her position, she’ll reveal herself. So, she can only hold her breath, and hope that whatever it is (a dog perhaps?) that snuffles against her hiding place doesn’t expose her.

Another growl then, but it is not from the thing shuffling against her covers. Instead it’s one of the men, and then he speaks.

“Tormund” The other man commands, “Head out, I’ll check around the area, you go and make sure our brothers are alright”

The man named Tormund laughs, “Aye, make sure they’re not pissing off the Northerners you mean” He laughs again a booming, rich sound that is actually kind of nice, “No promises Snow”

The man with the warm laugh leaves, and she hopes that perhaps the other man will follow, she hopes he’ll take his dog with him.

But of course, Sansa has _never_ had much luck with hope.

She screams as the cover is ripped away to reveal not a dog, but a wolf, a giant white wolf, with red beady eyes that doesn’t make a sound. Instead it just tilts its head and looks at her, it doesn’t try to bite her or hurt her, just watches her, and yet she is shaking with fear.

“No need to be afraid” The man speaks and she lets out a shriek in surprise, that he laughs at, and he has a rougher laugh than his friend, but it is so genuinely filled with joy she almost smiles even amongst her fear. “He won’t bite”

The direwolf she realises, proves that by just continuing to look at her, not a grunt or a growl leaves it, but it doesn’t look like it will hurt her, it just watches her, as though curious.

“Come on out then” The man speaks again, and though she knows she’s caught, and she should, she doesn’t move. She shakes in the face of the wolf, even if it means no harm, and she feels it will be worse with whoever this man is.

“Don’t make me drag you” His tone is threatening, and so she knows she has no choice. As gracefully as possible she shimmies out from under the bed, stands to her feet.

And she comes face to face with the King of the Wildlings.

It has to be him. He is just as they described … and _more_. Handsome, black haired, giant wolf at his side, scar across his eyebrow, valyrian sword he’d pilfered from the Wall at his hip. He is everything she had dreamt and _more_. He has a distinct northern look about him, the Stark grey eyes, a cheeky grin. She knows her cheeks are flaming as she looks at him, looks at the man she had imagined rescuing her for months.

And here he is, looking back at her, with an expression she can’t recognise. He has come to her, to save her _… perhaps life can be a song?_

“You…I” She stumbles, usually a perfect Lady she doesn’t know what to say. He laughs again, but it is not mocking as it was from Joffrey or Cersei, but kind … can the King of the Wildlings be kind? She hadn’t heard much about his personality in truth, only his looks, which _far_ surpass the rumours.

He looks kind though, there is a fierceness in his gaze yes, a reckless spirit with a dash of ruthlessness, but there is a kindness she can see, buried deep down. She blushes deeper then, here she is imagining she knows this man.

She had dreamt of him yes, but she doesn’t know him … she is startled when she realises, she wants to.

 _‘Life is not a song sweetling; you will learn that to your sorrow’_ She has to remember that. She can’t be stupid here, and with that chastisement in her head she manages to speak.

“I…is Robb here?” She asks and he nods but offers nothing more, he does step closer though and she finds she doesn’t feel an urge to step back. Who is this man that she feels at ease with him already? When she doesn’t know him? She wonders if she’s gone insane, cracked maybe? Or perhaps being rescued has her swooning? She’s not sure, she just knows she is far too comfortable with a man she does not know.

“Aye, he is” He does offer then, “Taking the Keep” Her eyes widen then, and she finds herself stepping forward, her blue eyes searching his grey ones, for answers now. “He asked me to come and look for you” He is handsome, but there is an intensity about him that goes past good looks. She imagines he spends a lot of his time brooding, smouldering, to have such a look.

“So, the City fell?” She hadn’t dared to hope, and that is clear in her voice. The King offers her a smile then and nods, his smile is lovely, and she smiles back … the City has fallen! She is safe!

The next thing she does on instinct, she doesn’t plan it. No, she certainly didn’t intend to leap into the King’s arms, squealing and shaking with relief, that finally, finally her nightmare in King’s Landing is over. It is automatic, to clutch at someone close by out of pure respite.

She expects him to recoil and she almost pulls back to apologise. But then he hugs her back, his arms sure and strong around her. They don’t even know each other and yet he offers her the most comfort she’s had in years. She feels warmth inside of her, and as she pulls back, she does not step away.

In her dreams the King rescued her, swept her into his arms … but she hadn’t imagined what would happen next.

“What’s your name?” She asks, for she feels she is far too close to a man to not know his name, for she only knows him as a King. His arms are around her waist, hers his neck, and though she should step back, she doesn’t, she remains in that circle of his arms, she’s not sure why.

“Jon” He offers, and she nods. “And you, Sansa” Why his name on her lips causes her to almost swoon she does not know, “Are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. I think if your brother had known the way I’d look at you now he wouldn’t have dared send me”

A little gasp leaves her lips then, in her dreams he didn’t talk, but here his rich voice lights a warmth in her belly and causes a skip in her heart. He is beyond what she had dreamt of, and his words? They are some of the most intense yet welcome she had heard.

He is not sweet or romantic, no, he is fire incarnate, and that is _so_ much better.

“I don’t even know you” She whispers, for this all feels quite mad, is she asleep perhaps? Has she fainted? She is not acting like herself, and yet this is the Sansa she had once been, the Sansa who would leap at such a fairy tale … is life a song? “Not at all”

“I hope to change that” He speaks, and her heart flutters. “I’d like to know you, in every way, would you like to know me? I think you would”

“I...” She stumbles, “Yes, but I don’t know why” Why is she being so honest with him? Her armour of courtesies sheds in the face of him. What is this man doing to her?

“You rescued me” She states then, her voice still a whisper, “You saved me”

“I have no doubt Sansa, if I hadn’t come, you’d have rescued yourself” He is sincere she can see and that makes her want to hug him as tightly as possibly, many people had called her beautiful, few call her strong. “You’re kissed by fire, strong”

“Strong?” She asks, and he nods, she gulps down some nerves, and yet her nerves aren’t out of fear, but something else.

“Not that I’m not happy to” He teases then, “I’m happy to rescue you” He is smouldering again then, and she feels like she might be on fire from his gaze.

“Why?” She whispers again, she has never been in a more intimate situation, but she leans into it. Jon, he has something, a fire, something that draws her in.

“Well, I get to do this” There is arrogance there now, she kind of likes it.

She likes it more though when he lowers his mouth onto hers.

She has had a few kisses before, a peck or two with Joffrey before he revealed himself to be a monster, a kiss with Sandor that had been on her mind before the King replaced him in her dreams. A chaste kiss or two with boys in Winterfell. But this? This is beyond any of that.

She feel’s like stars explode in her head, like a fire has been lit inside of her that chases every dash of pain, despair, and desperation she has felt since she had come to King’s Landing. It feels like _Jon_ … the King, he is someone she does not know, but someone she is meant to be locked in an embrace with. It is crazy, and yet as he pulls her closer, she offers no resistance.

A little whimper slips from her lips as he gently slips his tongue inside her mouth, and then he is backing her to the wall, her back hits it and she lets out an involuntary moan that makes her blush like a siren, she is being so wanton, but somehow she doesn’t care. He laughs at that, but again it is not to mock, she knows he doesn’t mock. His hands are hard at her waist as he devours her, and her arms are locked around his neck, refusing to let him go, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

“Fuck” He says as he pulls back a little, she in a moment of boldness she doesn’t often possess darts forward to kiss him again. He growls at that, and the sound makes her shiver, but he pulls back again.

“Bad idea” She is crestfallen then, takes to move away, but he doesn’t let her, “Don’t fucking doubt yourself” She flinches at the language, but his words warm her, “If I don’t pull away now Sansa I am going to fuck you into the wall, and in my culture that basically marries us”

She bites down on her lip then, grips at his neck so she doesn’t sway.

She doesn’t know this man, this King, this Jon. She doesn’t know him, and yet he saved her, he thinks she’s strong, he is handsome beyond words and she has been dreaming of him for months. She is not sure why she feels so at ease around him, or why she is so reluctant to let him go.

She remembers a song then that a Bard had sang at her 11th nameday celebration at Winterfell.

_‘The heart knows when the search is over’_

Life is not a song, but in that moment, with Jon _…_ _it feels like it._

And so, shaking a little still, she leaned up and placed her lips against his once more. “Then marry us” She whispers against his lips. She is not sure how she is being so bold, or if she even knows what she is asking. All she knows is that if Jon were to step out of her embrace, if he were to turn from her, she’d surely feel lost.

He is her saviour, and more than that, her believer. She cannot relinquish him, she won’t, she does not want to.

“I dreamed about you” She whispers, a ghost over his lips. Her nerves fail her then, she has never been very brave, but thankfully it seems Jon has accepted her decision.

He kisses her again and the previous kiss pales in comparison. He is fire when he kisses her now, fire and heat and passion and everything. She moans into his embrace, as he lifts her off the floor, encourages her to wrap her legs around his waist, all without breaking the kiss. He nips at her bottom lip, and she does the same, makes him groan. Hearing the sound, she wants to make it happen again and again, and she knows she’ll get the chance as he turns them and moves them to the bed, landing on top of her, never breaking the kiss.

“You want this” Him checking makes her want it even more somehow, that he asks, that he treats her as an equal. She knows Beyond the Wall gender doesn’t dictate status; she likes that. “Tell me Sansa, tell me you want this. You know I do; I’ve known you five minutes and I’d already happily be tied to you, but do you?”

She nods then, and then all doubt leaves him, and her. She isn’t sure why, she doubts he knows either, but she doesn’t question it, not when he kisses her again and his hands start to move.

“But the door” She manages to splutter as he goes for her skirts. She can see his wolf stands guard just outside now, as the door is open.

“Let anyone try and look at you” He returns, for he clearly does not plan to take his hands or lips off her, not yet, she doesn’t want him to either “I’ll take their heads for daring”

Violence has never been something she has liked but the way Jon phrases it makes her shiver, and then he is kissing her again, lifting her skirts and she squirms a little in nervousness. She wants to do this, she does, but she can’t help nerves.

“I…I’ve never” She admits, and he nods.

“I know, I’ll be your first and last” He promises, and she nods then, for how could she disagree with something like that? “I’ll be gentle” He promises in a whisper to her ear, and that is all the reassurance she needs, then he is lifting her skirts, high, to get to her.

His fingers trace along her thighs, and she squeals a little. He smothers her squeal with another kiss, one that makes her shiver and burn all at the same time. His fingers continue to stroke, before moving up, to her smallclothes, nudging them aside then.

This was not how she was told it would be. She was told it would be painful, that she’d need to anticipate being bare before her husband, doing as he pleased. And yet, now Jon only moves her small clothes to the side before his fingers are on her, and there is nothing painful about it, in fact he seems to want to bring her pleasure first.

This was not what she expected, but it is certainly welcome.

As his fingers stroke her, he finds the little nub of her sex and strokes that, and she moans against his mouth. He strokes there, over, and over, until she is quivering. “Oh…Jon” She moans as he draws back from her lips, only to begin planting kisses, rough and wet to her neck, his beard scratching her a little, his teeth scraping. “Oh” She moans as he strokes, and she feels a delicious wetness between her legs. This wasn’t something she’d been told to expect.

“So wet” He groans into her neck, and she whines as his fingers dip down, dip inside of her, and she moans as he pushes them inside of her. It feels a little tight, but as he dips in and out, his thumb still rubbing that little nub any discomfort is chased away to pleasure. She is soon moaning and writhing on the bed, her legs hooking around his waist, as he strokes and dips in and out, his lips moving back to hers to smother her whines and whimpers with his lips.

Something begins to build in her, a deep pleasure she has never known, a pleasure that chases up her spine and threatens to explode. She isn’t sure what it is, what to feel, but Jon’s words encourage her, “That’s it Sansa, good girl” He crones into her ear, biting down on her lobe, “Let it go, let it go now”

She does, and she is sure she must be dreaming again.

A pleasure so deep she’s sure Jon must have dragged it from her takes her over. Stars explode over her eyes and she almost sobs in pleasure. But it doesn’t’ stop there, Jon continues to stroke, even as she trembles, and then he is leaving her, but not to pull away she realises, instead he is dragging her dress from her and she is quick to comply.

She also goes for his clothes, wanting him bare before her as she soon is before him. The way he gazes upon her doubles the wetness between her legs and she almost moans at how he looks at her, a smouldering fire that threatens to _burn_ her.

“You are beyond anything I have ever seen” He says, and soon he sheds his clothes, and she gazes upon him. He is beautiful, perfectly crafted, and then he is back between her legs, and she is so ready for what comes next, she’s sure she has never been this eager.

“You’re sure?” He pauses, and again she loves that he offers the choice. So many men demand things from her, Joffrey, Littlefinger, all demand fealty and tried to get more, but Jon? He asks, he wants her to say yes. It has something she’s never had, and she knows she can never go without it again, perhaps she won’t have to.

Because sure, she doesn’t know Jon, but already what she knows makes her want him, makes her think she can love him someday … someday _soon_.

“I’m sure” She asserts, and he nods, before he is wrapping her legs back around her waist, presses his lips to hers again, strokes her there once more, before nudging at her entrance.

He enters her slowly, and yet he is big, and she feels he can’t possibly fit. She whines in pain, but he is slow, gentle, and he continues to stroke between them, at her nub. The wetness helps and so does his kisses. She knows it is meant to be painful, but it is not as nearly as bad as she had feared.

And soon Jon chases that pain away to pleasure.

“Oh” The moan leaves her lips as he eases in and out of her, so gentle, so slow. She can see it takes him some effort not to let himself free, and she grows bold then, wanting to bring him the pleasure he had given her. She kisses him, nips at his lip and he growls.

She moves her lips then, down to his neck and she kisses and licks there. The groan that leaves his lips boldens her and she nips at him there, once, twice, three times and another groan. He begins to quicken his pace a little then and her moans join his, the pain long gone.

The pleasure chases up her spine again and soon she is writhing beneath him, her arms wrapped around his neck, hands tangled in his hair. He has one hand in her hair, the other holds one of her legs up. His groans meet her moans, and she feels they are as close as two people can possibly be.

She wants them to be this close _forever_.

“Oh god Jon” She moans, as that pleasure comes to her again, but whereas before it built and exploded, now it builds much quicker and explodes almost out of nowhere. A strangled scream leaves her lips and he hastens his pace again, and she feels a deep satisfaction as he follows her into pleasure with a growl followed by a deep moan, his seed spilling inside her, as he holds her close.

He doesn’t release her as he spends himself, instead he just falls on top of her, without crushing her and kisses her again, three times, and when he pulls back she rubs her nose to his, something she’d seen couples in the North do, he grins at her, and she giggles a little in response. He follows her with a nudge to the nose, and she knows her cheeks are aflame, and she is beyond giddy, he is grinning too, and he looks younger as he smiles at her, a happy smile that makes her feel a deep happiness.

“This was not what I expected of my rescue” She admits with another little giggle, and he laughs as well before rolling off her, though he only lets her go for a second before pulling her back into his arms, his arms, where she hopes to remain forever.

“Not what I expected today either” He admits with a smirk, “But certainly welcome”

“Yes” She agrees, and grins again before leaning up to kiss him once more. She feels impossibly giddy and he seems happy as he holds her close, refusing to let her go.

Minutes pass in a comfortable silence, and though she feels tried and thoroughly spent, and like she could sleep for a year, she knows as much as she wants to rest in Jon’s arms a City is falling around them … she is surprised no one came across them, Jon clearly did a good job of securing this part of the Castle.

“What do we do now?” She asks, for she does not know, “Are we really married?” She tries to hide her glee in the words, but he can see it, and he grins indulgingly at her, she likes his smile, a lot.

“Aye in my culture” He leans down to kiss her again, “And we’ll marry in your Godswood too” At that she nods and feels a warmth at how considerate he is, “But for now? I suppose we better find your brother” He rolls his eyes and she giggle again, and he is grinning as well. She realises not only is she giddy, he is too.

She remembers then that her brother, perhaps mother are close by. What would they think? Well, they’ll have to face that, but she doesn’t regret it. How can she when it felt so good, when she feels the happiest she has in years? She knows her mother will disapprove, Robb will be furious, but she refuses to relinquish this feeling, this happiness.

“Time to face the wolves then” He says before standing to his feet, pulling her up beside him, his eyes raking over her again, she feels that warmth once more, and she knows he can sense it.

“Aren’t you a wolf?” She teases and he laughs, pulls her in again, that smouldering look still present, and she feels warmer still, but his next words are sweet rather than intense.

“Aye, and so are you” She grins at that, and they kiss once more. He believes in her, and that is better than all else he has given.

They have much to sort out she knows, much to do, but for a second, she just basks in Jon’s embrace, the King’s embrace, the man of her dreams, her rescuer, her husband.

_Perhaps life is a song?_

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> soo thoughts? 
> 
> for more jonsa smut check out my fic - quite a bit more. 
> 
> want me to write more jonsa smut? lemme know! hope you enjoyed. 
> 
> speak soon


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